


The World's a Beast of a Burden

by Colette_Capricious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, more in the second chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colette_Capricious/pseuds/Colette_Capricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sam realizes his mistake the third morning in a row that Dean gets himself a cup of coffee without bringing one for Sam. He smells coffee when Dean passes behind him and automatically reaches for his mug without looking away from the laptop screen. Encountering nothing but empty space, he turns, puzzled, just in time to see Dean leave in a swish of dead-guy robe. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You’ve been holding up a long time

Sam knows that every now and then Dean starts to feel antsy, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like he’s waiting for Sam to come to his senses and leave. And, like the emotionally constipated idiot he is, he deals with it by pulling away first, by getting irritable, and flirting with everyone around him. As if he’s trying to prove to himself, and Sam by extension, that he has options, that he won’t end up alone. That he’ll be okay if (when) Sam leaves.

Now is one of those times.

In Sam’s defense, it has been a really busy few weeks. Garth had called for help in researching some seriously arcane goings-on down in Louisiana. That bayou crap was always tricky. Zombies, voudon, con artists, and drunken tourists made for a lot of bad situations. Sam has been deep in research mode for the last week, on the phone with some of Garth’s people in the South. The MoL library has some freakishly rare collections that are helping a lot.

Meanwhile, Dean had paired off with Frannie Walsh, a hunter down in Arizona, to go after what turned out to be the ghosts of a Hopi man and the Navaho woman he had fallen in love with. A hundred years dead and they’d come back to terrorize the locals. Sam was a little vague on the details, something about land, and oil, and forbidden love, yaddah, yaddah, but Dean had come back pretty beat up. His right knee was really bad, like pull-out-the-despised-cane bad. He’d also pulled some major muscles in his back when he’d lifted the side of a house off Frannie. To top it off, he had really bad sunburn.

So with all that, it just happened that more nights than not, they end up sleeping apart. Sam researching late into the night, Dean on the couch, knee propped up on a pillow. Not Sam’s favorite circumstances, but life’s like that sometimes. He passes by Dean’s room a few times, and Dean seems peacefully asleep for a change, so Sam heads for what is nominally ‘his’ room. He knows Dean hates being injured, hates attention being drawn to his injury, so he doesn’t hover, doesn’t comment on the cane. Generally, he leaves Dean to it.

Sam realizes his mistake the third morning in a row that Dean gets himself a cup of coffee without bringing one for Sam. He smells coffee when Dean passes behind him and automatically reaches for his mug without looking away from the laptop screen. Encountering nothing but empty space, he turns, puzzled, just in time to see Dean leave in a swish of dead-guy robe. _Fuck_. 

Sam thinks back over the last few days and catalogs all the small signals Dean had been putting out that he’d missed and he curses at himself again. Damn it. He’d been so wrapped up in the thrill of the hunt for that one piece of information, the tiny bit of lore that would break open this case, that he hadn’t even noticed Dean battling with more than physical injuries. He drums his fingers against the laptop and thinks. He can fix this.

Two hours, a few phone calls, and some Google searches later, Sam has given Louisiana-guy all the info he has, let Garth know the Winchesters are unavailable for anything less than another Apocalypse for the next few days, and packed a bag for him and Dean.

He walks into the living room where Dean sprawls across the couch watching Mythbusters. The small collection of dirty cups and food wrappers on the floor by the couch are just another sign he’d missed that Dean isn’t okay. He stands between Dean and the TV, blocking his view.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean drawls without looking up. “What’s up? Though you were being all geek-boy with your new boyfriend?”

Sam hears something explode on the screen behind him. Adam and Jamie laugh and cheer. The orange light flickers across Dean’s face, highlighting the way Dean is deliberately not looking at Sam. “I’m done,” Sam says.

Now Dean turns his head to look at Sam, eyebrows raised. “Yeah? Good for you.” Dean sits up, swinging his legs to the floor. Sam’s watching for it, so he sees the twinge when his foot hits the ground, notices the stiffness in his arms. “So anyway,” Dean continues, “I was thinking of going out tonight. Play some pool, have a few drinks. I might be late, so don’t wait up.”

Sam’s heart breaks a little at that. He wants to just grab Dean, press him into the couch, and kiss him until he can’t breathe, push all that insecurity away with the force of his body. But that’s not how this goes. That might have worked two, three days ago. But Dean’s been alone with his thoughts and his demons for too long. This is going to take more.

Dean stands up and Sam takes a step forward right into his space. He pulls himself up into what Dean calls his loom-mode, forcing Dean to either look up at him to make eye contact or keep talking to Sam’s chin. “You’re not going anywhere, Dean. But we are. We’re going on a trip.” He reaches out, curling his hand around Dean’s hip. The robe is soft under his fingers as he rubs small circles into Dean’s hipbone with his thumb. He feels the quick shudder Dean can’t suppress, and feels his muscles tense as he fights not to just lean into Sam, rest his head against his chest and let Sam hold him up. Sam slides his hand up Dean’s back, not hard, not pulling Dean into him the way he craves, just letting Dean feel the warmth of his hand. A tease, a promise for later. Dean exhales sharply and his breath is hot against Sam’s collarbone. “Why don’t you go take a shower and get dressed. I’ve already packed for us and there are some clothes on your bed.”

Dean looks up at Sam now, eyes dark, assessing. Sam is careful to keep his expression soft but not laughing, not at all. This isn’t funny to either of them. His touch on Dean’s back is gentle. Finally, Dean nods, takes a step backward and reaches for the cane. “Yeah. Okay.” 

Sam moves back just enough to let Dean pass by, afraid to say anything more. Dean stops at the door to the hall, resting his weight on the cane and turns, pointing at the dirty plates. “Clean that up, bitch. You owe me.” Sam remembers Dean hobbling from the kitchen, balancing plates and the cane and, yeah, he does own Dean. “I know it. I will. Now shower.”

“Bossy.” He thinks he sees a tiny smile on Dean’s face as he turns away. Sam waits until Dean is around the bend before he lets himself sag, exhaling loudly in the room. It’s tricky, so tricky with Dean. So easy to go too far one way or the other. But he thinks that went well. He picks up the mugs and the fast food wrappers and nods. Yeah, that was good. Time for the next step.

He hears Dean humming as he quietly sneaks into the bathroom. Steam fills the space and the pounding of the spray masks his footsteps. He watches the fuzzy outline of Dean’s body through the foggy glass as he takes off his clothes. Dean turns his back to the spray, eyes closed at the feel of hot water over his sore shoulder. Sam opens the shower door and slips in. Dean doesn’t even open his eyes as Sam slides an arm around his waist. “All the other showers full?” 

“I like the view in this one better.” 

Dean barks a laugh even as Sam is turning him around and crowding him to the wall. “Wow. That is cheesy even for you. I should kick you out just for that.” He slaps his hands on the tiles as Sam gives him a little shove. “Hey, careful. More accidents happen in the home than anywhere else, you know.” But there’s definitely a smile in his voice now, so Sam’s not stopping. He tilts the shower head so the water runs between them, down Dean’s gorgeous back. Sam grabs the body wash they both like and pours it out in a stream between Dean’s shoulder blades. “Cold,” Dean says. 

“Sorry,” Sam answers, leaning into kiss Dean’s temple. Dean pushes into it and Sam kisses lower on his neck. “Sorry.” Dean just nods, still more tense than Sam is happy with. 

Sam pulls back, rubs both hands through the soap and glides his hand up and down Dean’s back and sides. He runs thumbs up the muscles on either side of his spine, digs his fingers into the meat of his shoulders and at the base of his neck until Dean groans and Sam feels him relax. He pours more soap into his palm and slides right up against Dean’s back. He slips his hands around to Dean’s chest pulling Dean into him so Dean can feel his erection pressing against his lower back and the top of his ass. 

Dean’s breath hitches. “Sam.” And Sam can’t tell if it’s a warning or an invitation. His fingers trail lightly across Dean’s chest, skimming over nipples, down to the ribs and back up again to press harder as he shudders and pushes back just the smallest amount against Sam. Sam twists his hips, and rocks into Dean just to feel the glorious sensation of his brother’s wet, soapy skin against his cock. But this isn’t about him, so he leans forward to suck the water off Dean’s neck as his hands slip lower. Dean inhales and shifts his hands against the wall to help his balance. 

“How’s the knee?” Sam asks.

“Fantastic,” Dean grumbles. “Want to talk about the weather next?”

Sam laughs softly and slides his hand down between Dean’s legs. “About fucking time,” Dean mutters under his breath. He’s half hard already and Sam just holds him gently, cupping his hand around his cock, and placing soft kisses wherever he can reach. _Sorry_ , he mouths against his skin. _Sorry_. Dean’s hips push forward into Sam’s hand and back against him. Dean’s not all the way okay, but he’s listening.

“I missed you when you were gone,” Sam says, sliding down Dean’s body, going to his knees on the shower floor. His lips slide over the water cascading down Dean’s hip and he follows the flow over the curve of his perfect ass. “Missed you,” he repeats, trailing a finger down the valley between the cheeks. He pushes in, slippery with soap, just feeling for Dean’s opening. 

Dean exhales hard through his nose. “Yeah?” he asks, voice a little cracked. “We’ll I’ve been there on the couch all week. Pretty easy to find.”

Sam doesn’t answer, can’t answer. Dean is right. He grabs a cheek in each hand and pulls gently. Dean arches into it and Sam pushes his mouth in, tongue ghosting over the warm wet flesh, flicking at the tight muscle. It’s an apology, a confession. He pushes hard and Dean shudders. Fucked maybe, but it’s language of the body, of actions, not words. It speaks louder than words ever could for the Winchester boys.

Sam pushes deeper, feeling the strain in the tendons of his neck, the length of his tongue. He’s desperate for the way Dean’s body is starting to move under his hands, beneath his mouth. A few more hot licks around and Dean is panting. “Come on,” Dean urges, pushing back. “Stop teasing.” But Sam can tell the way Dean’s thighs are shivering is only partly from arousal, part of it is from pain. Sam pulls off and rests his forehead on Dean’s hip, breathing heavily. His cock is hard and heavy between his leg. It feels good. 

He stands up, wraps around Dean from behind, so that he can take some of Dean’s weight, and shuts off the shower. “Come on. Time to get out.”

Dean tries to pull away, twisting in Sam’s grip. “Really? Just going to be a tease?”

Sam lets Dean turn in his grasp until they are face to face. He kisses Dean deep and slowly. His erection slides against Dean’s stomach, and it feels so good. Dean’s lips soft and resilient under his teeth, the muscles sleek and strong in his hands. God, he missed this, he needs it as much as Dean. Thank god one of them has some sense. Maybe one day it will be him. 

He walks them both out of the shower and wraps Dean in the biggest towel they have, then leads him to his bed. Despite Dean’s grumbling, he pulls Dean’s arm around his shoulders and keeps an arm around Dean’s waist, taking as much of his weight off the bad knee as he can.

The bed is soft, and Dean sighs as he sinks down into it, eyes closed. His cock has softened with the exertion of the walk and his breathing is a little shallow. Sam grabs an extra pillow and gently slides it under Dean’s bad knee, pushing his leg out to the side at the same time. With a hand on Dean’s inner thigh, he pushes Dean’s other leg a little wider. He’s completely exposed now. “Sam. C’mon, man. Just fuck me.”

Sam crawls up the bed on his hands and knees, leans over his brother, and dips down for a deep kiss. “Just let me, okay?” He guides Dean’s arms up, placing his hands on the headboard and wrapping the fingers around. “Don’t let go, okay? Let go and I’ll stop.” _Please don’t let go_ , he thinks. Closing his eyes and hoping he’s getting this right, he lowers down, mindful of Dean’s injuries, until they’re pressed together chest to groin, Dean’s thighs pressed against Sam’s hips. Their breath mingles as they both sigh. Sam braces himself on one elbow and cradles Dean’s face in his hand, moving him into the perfect angle to fit their lips together. When they touch, everything else falls away. It’s perfect: the pressure, the slickness and the catch of Dean’s gorgeous mouth. They kiss, all lips and tongue and nips, until time stretches like taffy, slow and sweet. Sam comes back to himself with the feeling of Dean’s hand on his head, fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently but firmly in rhythm with the rolling of their hips and the slip slide of their cocks against each other.

Dean pulls sharply, yanking Sam’s head back with a wicked groan, and Sam’s orgasm is suddenly right there, punching low in his abdomen. It feels like every cell in his body wails the loss as he pushes up and away from Dean’s body before he can come. Resting his head against Dean’s, he pants hotly, trembling, trying to slow the thundering of his heart. “Dean,” he croaks, pulling Dean’s hand off his head. He slides his hand down to Dean’s, palm to palm, and squeezes. Dean squeezes back and Sam pulls away far enough to look Dean in the eye. Pupils blown black, Dean looks as wrecked as Sam feels. He exhales a ragged laugh and pulls Dean’s arm back up to the headboard. “Yeah?” he asks.

Dean meets his eyes, lifts his head, trying to recapture Sam’s lips. Sam sways back and Dean grunts a protest. Sam presses down on Dean’s hand where it rests against the headboard. “You want to stop?” Sam’s body trembles against the pull of Dean’s skin. He wants desperately to sink down onto Dean, would fight demons to feel that skin against his, but it has to be Sam’s way. Dean can’t be in charge of this. For his own sake, for both their sakes. 

Dean twists underneath him, dripping cock painting a wet line across Sam’s thigh, and Sam’s hand convulses around Dean’s, the muscle in his jaw clenching. Fucking hell. Sam feels his own cock dripping down on to Dean’s stomach and closes his eyes. Dean shudders and slides his hand from underneath Sam’s, turning it palm down to grip the headboard again. His eyes are closed and his chest is heaving. “Please. God, please Sam.” The words are dragged out of his throat.

Sam exhales, panting with relief. If Dean had fought him, had ordered him, Sam would have stopped. He would have had to. But god it would have hurt, would have been two steps back. He drops his head down to Dean’s neck, tasting the salty sweat and the clean skin underneath. He sucks and bites, dragging his tongue across the three-day beard, until he gets the skin right at the curve of Dean’s jaw between his teeth. He sucks hard, drawing the blood to the surface, marking Dean where no shirt or jacket can hide it. His own breathing is ragged in his ears, hot breath flowing down Dean’s neck. Dean’s curses and pleas are constant now, and Sam can feel the muscles of his arms like iron from the tightness of his grip on the bed. 

“Oh fuck, Please. Come on, Sam. Sam.” He rolls his hips back and forth, brushing their cocks together, Sam’s hanging down hard and heavy, Dean’s arching up from his body. Sam’s whimpering. It feels too good. He knows he had a plan here, a reason to drag this out, but he’ll be damned again if he can remember it. “Sam, you feel so fuckin’ good. Please just touch me. God anything. Let me touch you. My mouth, please. Just let me taste you.”

Dean is craning his head, trying to get his mouth on any part of Sam he can reach. Those plush lips brush Sam’s neck and he groans, pulled to Dean’s incredible mouth. There’s nothing like coordination or finesse left as he just drags his lips over Dean’s. They rub open mouths together and Sam feels Dean dig his heels into the bed and thrust up. A lightning flash of pleasure shoots through Sam as Dean’s body presses hard against his dripping cock. He wrenches his head up and shouts Dean’s name, legs finally giving out. As he crashes down, Dean wraps his legs around Sam, locking his ankles around Sam’s calves and just ruts fast and hard against Sam. 

It’s all over then, whatever grand plan Sam had is shattered by the feel of Dean’s hot length against his. A few wordless thrusts and they are both coming, pulsing against each other, no way to tell who came first, no reason to care.

And it’s almost perfect. Almost.

They lay there, pressed together, every twitch of the other bringing a shudder, until their breathing evens out and the press of skin on skin becomes too much. With a groan, Sam rolls off Dean, wrinkling his nose at the pull of drying come on his skin. Dean peels his hands from the headboard, flexing his fingers. “Jesus Christ, Sammy. Fuck.”

Sam nods. Tries to speak but nothing comes out. Tries again. “Yeah. Good.”

Dean laughs. “Well-put, college boy.” He pushes himself up a little on the bed, resting his back on headboard and dragging Sam against his chest. Sam goes, pretty much unable to move much on his own just yet, and turns his face into Dean’s neck. Dean huffs as he slides the pillow back under his knee.

Sam swirls a finger through the glaze on Dean’s stomach, gathering up their shared release. He feels Dean’s eyes on him as he brings his finger to his mouth, tasting.

“Good boy, Sammy. Damn, I thought you were gonna tease me all night. ‘Bout ready to put you on your back at the end there.” Dean’s reaching for a lightness, but Sam hears something off underneath it, especially given how hard he just came. He looks up at Dean, searching for the tells Dean can’t hide. There’s just a hint of tension in the shadows and wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. 

Sam curses silently. He was so close. He almost had Dean where he needed to be. But now he’ll have to start again. Sam needs Dean to give up even that little bit of control he claimed at the end. Has to move Dean past the demands, past even the begging, get him to a point where he will just be, where he trusts Sam completely to make him feel good. He has to prove to Dean, in the only way Dean will believe, that Sam’s first priority is always going to be taking care of Dean. Taking care of him the way he needs but can never bring himself to ask for directly. 

Sam needs to take care of Dean just as much. It’s the only thing that touches the ever-present awareness of the debt he owes Dean. He can never repay Dean for the sacrifices he made. Dean gave his childhood, his life, and his soul for Sam. Sam can be strong for him. All he wants to do now is roll over and sleep pressed against Dean, feel the rise and fall of his chest. But that’s not what Dean needs.

The sound of the flat of his hand smacking onto Dean’s stomach is loud in the quiet room. When Dean turns wide eyes on him, Sam keeps his face still, voice low. “We both need another shower. Separately,” he continues as Dean opens his mouth, a smart ass remark clearly visible in the quirk of his lips. “Then put on the clothes I laid out. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

He rolls off the bed, not looking back so he won’t be tempted to crawl in with his brother.

Forty-five minutes later, Dean is dressed and waiting for Sam by the car. The bags are tossed in the back seat. Sam smiles, presses himself against Dean for a long, deep kiss. He digs through Dean's jacket pocket as he does, pulling out the keys. “Get in,” he says, breaking the kiss. “I’m driving.”

It’s a sixteen-hour drive to Vegas from Lebanon. They make it in twelve, pulling onto the Strip as the sun rises.


	2. Time goes quicker between the two of us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has plans.

The suite Richard Vance’s credit card gets them at Bellagio is light years away from their usual haunts, all muted colors and tasteful decor. The bathroom alone is bigger many of the places they’ve stayed, with a tub big enough for both of them. Tired from the whirlwind trip through Colorado and Utah, it’s the bed that pulls at them both. Dean mumbles something about the breakfast buffet but Sam ignores him, pushing him down into the plush pillowtop. Dean groans. “Oh yeah. God, Sammy. I’m leaving you for this bed. I’m sorry man, you’re good. But this bed, it’s just doing things for me.” He moans again, pulling the creamy duvet up around his body. Sam shoves at his knees as he pulls Dean’s shoes and socks off. He stands up, reaches for the button of Dean’s jeans but Dean grabs his arm with a hand still wrapped in the bedcover. “Sorry, Sam. The bed’s jealous. No one gets me but her.”

Sam laughs and pushes Dean’s hand flat against the bed. He presses his mouth to the strip of skin between hit t-shirt and jeans. Nipping and biting, licking around his navel, running the flat of his tongue over the hipbones. By the time he bites the button of the jeans open and pulls the zipper down with his teeth, Dean is a moaning, writhing wreck. Sam grasps the open flaps with both hands and pauses, mouth a hair’s breadth away from Dean’s hard dick. “Still want me to leave you alone with the bed?”

Dean thrusts up faster than Sam expected and manages to shove his dick against Sam’s mouth. “No, Sam. I want you to blow me. Stop being a tease.” Third time today Dean’s called Sam a tease. There’s something he wants, something he’s not getting. But Sam’s going to take care of that, of him. Some sleep, some food and he’ll be ready. 

He opens his mouth on Dean’s cock, sucking and licking the thick cotton of his favorite black briefs. They’re almost too small for Dean, and by the time Sam’s spit has soaked the cotton, Dean’s cock is pushed up hard against the tight elastic waistband. The thick band keeps his erection from pushing out, so it gets shoved sideways, a long, thick bulge under the briefs. It’s obscene, pornographic.

Dean’s hands are fisted in the blankets, trying not to grab at Sam’s head. He shouldn’t have to be trying. He still doesn’t completely trust Sam to get him there. Sam lifts up his head, bottom lip still touching Dean. He slides his fingers under the elastic, pulling it up. “This what you want, Dean?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before lifting the material up and over Dean’s erection, sliding down just enough for it to spring free. When Sam blows across the wet tip, Dean shudders. “I asked you a question. Is this what you want?”

Sam waits not-quite patiently. He really wants to get his mouth around Dean. He loves the feel of Dean’s heavy cock on his tongue, the stretch of his lips. And Dean loves it, loves seeing Sam on his knees for him. Watching Dean fall apart, it’s one of Sam’s favorite things. Dean’s answer is going to determine what happens next, set the tone for the rest of the weekend. They both want Sam to be in control, but it’s hard for Dean to give up, and it’s something Sam can't take. It’s a gift that has to be freely given.

Sam can smell the warm male scent of Dean, that and the heat of Dean’s cock is making Sam’s mouth water. He gives in to temptation and touches his tongue to the tip, tasting the salty sweetness there. He can’t hold back his moan. Under his hands, Dean body relaxes, sinks into the bed. He feels Dean’s hand on his head, not pushing, Dean’s just carding his fingers gently through Sam’s hair. It’s a decades old comfort and Sam leans into the touch, closing his eyes. Dean’s voice is soft, “Whatever you want, Sammy.”

 _Thank god._ Sam slides off the bed, taking Dean’s jeans and briefs down with him. He holds out his hand and pulls Dean upright, gently taking off his shirts. Bending down, he places a gentle kiss on Dean’s lips at the same time he fists his cock, slowly but firmly. “What I want,” he whispers into Dean’s ear, “is to suck your brains out through your cock.”

Dean pulls him in for a very thorough kiss. “Always knew you were the brains of this outfit.” He pulls at Sam’s belt loops. “C’mon.”

Sam shakes his head. If he gets naked, there is no way he’s going to be able to keep from coming. It’s going to be hard enough as it is. The sounds Dean makes when Sam’s mouth is on him should be illegal. More than once, Sam has come in his pants just from listening to them. But he doesn’t want to come until later.

“Just like this,” he says, placing a hand flat on Dean’s chest. “And Dean?” 

His brother looks up, eyes bright green and glassy with lust. No man should be that beautiful. It’s not fair. Sam breathes deep, fighting the urge to just strip and ravage Dean. “Enjoy it,” he says a little more breathlessly than he would like. Dean smirks the tiniest bit. He’s not unaware of his effect on Sam. _Jerk._ Sam chuckles darkly. “Enjoy it now. Because it’s the last time you’re going to come for a while.” 

Now it’s Sam’s turn to smirk at the way Dean’s eye widen, pupils expanding like an explosion as he shudders under Sam’s hand. _Oh yeah._ So worth Sam’s self-restraint. He pushes Dean down on the bed and rubs Dean’s cock across his lips, just feeling the soft skin. He starts slowly, little licks and kisses. A swipe of the tongue up and around the head. Dean just lays on the bed, hips rolling with feeling, soft sounds of pleasure mixing with deep groans when Sam hits those extra sensitive spots. Sam takes his time, using all his knowledge of Dean’s body to bring him right to edge and back, over and over, until they both are covered in sweat and trembling. Sam feels the tremors under his hands, and he pulls slowly off, pushing himself up on his hands to look at Dean. Dean’s skin is flushed from his head to his chest and sweat dampens the hair at his temples and on his forehead. His mouth hangs open just a bit as he pants, and his eyes are dark with lust, heavy-lidded with pleasure. But his hands are relaxed on the bed, muscles loose and pliable. He’s just riding the waves of pleasure Sam is creating for him. 

Sam reaches down and clamps his hand around his own dick to stop from coming at the sight. He kneels over Dean, kissing him deep, licking those perfect lips, pressing Dean to him with a hand behind his neck. “Sammy,” Dean sighs as Sam slips down his body. The hard nubs of Dean’s nipples draw his mouth and he licks and suck one while he pinches the other, then switches until Dean is writhing beneath him. His moans are desperate now and he’s rolling himself harder into Sam’s body. Sam can’t stop him now, doesn’t remotely want to, needs Dean to come soon, before Sam comes just from watching Dean. Moving back down between Dean’s legs, he slides his hands under Dean’s ass and pulls him into his mouth. He swallows Dean down as deep as he can, tongue working up and down and around, sucking and pressing. There’s no finesse now as his fingers press deep into Dean’s muscles. Dean gets thicker and heavier in his mouth, and he’s grunting with every pass of Sam’s tongue. Sam leans up and drives down on Dean’s cock until it presses against the back of his mouth. He swallows once, and Dean comes hard with a long, heartfelt groan. Sam swallows as long as he can and then pulls off quickly, while Dean is still coming, pulses into the air. Sam grabs himself again, resting his head on Dean’s thighs and panting. That was so goddamn close. He was so close to coming from the feel of Dean throbbing in his mouth. Pulling himself back from the edge verges on pain, and Sam lets out a shaky, breathless laugh. 

“Whasso funny?” Dean mumbles, flailing his hand in the general direction of Sam’s head. He ends up poking Sam in the eye.

“Quit it,” Sam says, pushing him away.

Dean is asleep in the two minutes it takes for Sam to pull himself together and get naked. He wakes Dean up, makes him take some painkillers. Dean’s knee is propped up, Sam draped around him from behind. Dean nuzzles into the sleepy kisses Sam places on the top of his head. Sam's half-hard cock rubs against Dean’s ass. “Sam?” he mumbles, rolling his hips sloppily. “Wanna?”

Sam runs his hand down Dean’s arm soothingly. “Just sleep. Long night coming up.”

“You say the sweetest things,” Dean mumbles before falling into a deep sleep, Sam right behind him.

As usual, Sam wakes up before Dean. He takes the time to make some arrangements for later that night. The garment bags that Dean had been looking at suspiciously hangs neatly in the closet. Bathrobes weren’t the only clothes the Men of Letters left behind. Judging by the wardrobe full of suits and tuxedos, the life of a Man of Letters in the fifties was much different than that of a 21st-century hunter. He’d picked out two of the tuxes, hoping that the tallest one would fit him. The hotel’s tailor is going to be up in an hour to make them look as best he can. Dean will pretend to complain, but Sam knows he loves dressing up. Put Dean in a suit and even more heads turned then normal. Dean in a tux, well that is enough stop conversation dead. Sam’s cock stirs at the visual. Oh, yeah, Dean needs to get up now.

“Hey,” he smacks at Dean’s feet. “Time to wake up. We’ve got a date.”

Dean burrows into the pillow, shrugging the covers higher up his body. “I‘m pretty much a sure thing, Sammy. Don’t have to buy me dinner.” He slides suggestively against the mattress, spreading his legs. “Come back to bed. I’ll show you.”

“Get up.” He smacks Dean on the ass this time. He sits on the edge of the bed, sliding his hand down Dean’s back as he pushes the duvet towards the foot of the bed. The air trapped beneath the covers is warm and smells like Dean. “Come on, Dean. I want to dress you up, take you out, and watch people want you.” 

Dean turns his head to Sam, eye dark, arms still crossed under the pillow. “Yeah?”

Sam’s hand slips under Dean’s boxers and he squeezes Dean’s ass, dragging his finger along the crack. He hears the hitch in his breathing. “Yeah. Now get up.”

Sharing the huge bathroom isn’t a problem, and the walk-in shower easily accommodates the both of them. He owns Dean in the shower, relaxing him with hands and mouth, keeping him on edge but not pushing him over. It’s a close call for both of them when he sits Dean on the counter, steps between his spread legs, and shaves the three-day beard off him. 

Dean’s panting and his cock feels like iron when Sam brushes against it. “Sam,” he breathes out.

Sam wipes the last bit of shaving cream off his face. “Not yet.” 

The way Dean’s eyes light up when he sees the tuxedos earns him a heated make-out session against the mirrored doors of the closet. Sam’s hard as a rock, but he just laughs when the knock at the door comes. He squeezes Dean’s equally hard dick. “Better get that under control. It’s going to makes it awfully hard for the tailor to concentrate if your dick is in his face.”

“Fuck you,” Dean says, jumping into the bathroom while Sam goes to answer the door.

“No jerking off!” Sam yells to Dean’s retreating back. 

“I repeat, fuck you,” Dean shouts back.

Watching Dean getting fitted in the tuxedo is better than porn. Sam fixes the different stages into his mind, snapshots for the spankbank. Dean barefoot with the too-long pants hanging over his feet. Dean lounging against the dresser in the white shirt and boxers while the tailor works on the jacket. When Dean is done, Sam crowds in closely, learning how all the hidden buttons and clasps come together. He’s going to need to know how to take the tux off and put it back on.

When it’s his turn to be fitted, he puts on a show for Dean. He knows how he looks, standing there shirtless in just the trousers. When he tries on the shirt, Dean’s eyes track the muscles of his chest and arms when he yawns, stretching his shoulders against the thin white fabric. He sees the heat in Dean’s glance when he tries on the vest. A quick check in the mirror lets him see how the thin lapels of the waistcoat make his shoulders appear even broader. 

Sam’s dying by the time the tailor finishes with some muttered compliments on their taste in clothing, the fitness of their bodies, and how nice it is to work on some quality tuxedos for change. He practically pushes the guy out the door while he’s saying something about rappers and their lack of fashion sense.

Time for the second part of this plan. _Thank god_. If he doesn’t get his hands on Dean soon, he won’t be responsible for what happens. He quickly undoes his pants. Dean is standing in front of the mirror, fully dressed, trying to hold back a pleased smiled at his reflection. He damn well should be pleased; he looks like a fucking movie star. Sam crowds right up behind him, grabs him by the shoulders and flips him around. “Strip.”

Dean’s eyes widen, as does his smirk. “Like what you see?”

Sam’s so not in the mood. After blowing Dean, sleeping next to him all night, the shower and shaving and now the goddamn tux, Sam is so hard he’s trembling. The only thing keeping him from ripping the suit off his brother is the plans he has for later in the evening. He doesn’t talk as he strips the jacket from Dean and starts on the bow tie. Dean just stands there, letting Sam work on the buttons and hooks, cursing under his breath at the complicated way the shirt, waistcoat and trousers hook together.

When the pants are free, Sam shoves them down, flips Dean back around, and pulls his hips out so Dean’s forced to brace himself on the mirror. Sam reaches out, fumbling for the pump bottle of lube he put out before along with one of Dean’s favorite toys. With no preliminaries, Sam slides two lube-slick fingers into Dean. Dean rises on his toes as he struggles to adjust to the sensation. “Jeez, Sam, warn -”

“No talking,” Sam hisses between his teeth, pushing harder, stretching Dean out. Their reflection in the mirror is almost too much, Dean’s head hanging down between his shoulders, breath fogging the mirror with each exhale. His cock is hard. Over his shoulder, Sam looks wild, color high in cheeks, as he pumps his fingers in and out of Dean’s ass. 

Dean is quiet except for the desperate pants. He whines as Sam slips his fingers out. It cuts off with a sharp inhale when Sam grabs his hair, forcing his head up so their eyes meet in the mirror. He holds Dean’s hip, rubbing his dick up and down Dean’s ass so there is no question about what’s happening next. “Don’t come,” he orders, yanking on Dean’s hair for emphasis.

Releasing Dean’s hair, he slicks up his cock, then kicks Dean’s feet wider as he presses against the not-quite-loose-enough opening. Dean grunts and goes back up on his toes, but Sam doesn’t stop. He knows Dean likes the burn, they both do. One of the many fucked-up consequences of being a Winchester, besides incest, is a few crossed wired where pain and pleasure are concerned. He pushes until his hips are flush with Dean’s ass, until he’s in as far as he can go. The heat and the clutch is too much to bear, and Sam just goes with it, not trying to hold back. Dean’s face is red and tight in the mirror with the strain of not coming. Sam wants to make Dean feel so good, so loved, that he can’t think; he doesn’t want to torture him. Taking too long here would cross the line into cruel. He grips the base of Dean’s cock just on the wrong side of tight. “Don’t come,” he rasps out. “God, Don’t come.” He pulls out and slams back in, once, twice, three times, and he’s coming, trembling and cursing, shooting long and hard, filling Dean up. 

He’s still panting with the aftershocks as he reaches behind him to grab the butt plug he’d set out. Not the biggest they have, but just right for Dean to wear all night and still be able to walk almost normally. He smooths Dean’s shirt with this clean hand. “So good. So good, Dean.” He meets Dean’s eyes in the mirror. 

Beautiful, he thinks, but doesn’t say. Not yet. 

He holds up the plug. “I want you to keep this in tonight. Keep me in. When all those people are looking at you, wanting you, I want you to remember who you belong to.” Dean’s eyes are all black and his cock twitches hard, leaking. Sam takes a breath and pulls slowly out of Dean. Not breaking eye contact, he slides the plug in. The easy way Dean opens for it makes his cock jerk as his body attempts to come again. _Christ_ , Dean is going to be the death of him. 

Showing Dean off is always a rush for Sam and he doesn’t get to do it nearly enough. He loves the way people look at Dean, loves the odd sense of pride and the rush of lust that comes from knowing that everybody wants but only Sam gets to have. But he hates that they won’t know Dean belongs to Sam. Dean’s accused him of being possessive, but he doesn’t know the half of it. Doesn’t know the hours Sam’s spent fantasizing about collars, locked bracelets, or permanent marks on Dean’s gorgeous skin.

But that’s not for tonight. Tonight he just pulls Dean up against him and pushes his head to one side, looking for the bruise he’d put there the night before. It’s fading, not good. Sam latches on to that same spot, sucking and worrying at the skin until Dean whines. He doesn’t try to pull away, though, just stands there, cock hard and aching, Sam’s come in his ass and his mark on his neck. Sam is painfully aware of the size of the gift Dean gives him every time they are together and, like every time, vows to be worthy of it.

He’s unable to speak as he gently cleans up. Dean is silent too, as Sam pulls the tuxedo pants back up, buttons them, and fixes Dean until not a hair is out of place. He leans in and kisses Dean gently. “Okay?” he asks, checking in, as Dean shifts, getting used to the feel of the silicone plug. Sam reaches between them, palms Dean’s half-hard cock. “Do you want the cock ring?” he asks. Dean shakes his head, eyes down, long lashes casting shadow on his cheek. Sam has to kiss him, can’t stop. Dean clutches at his arms, holding on, as he kisses Sam back desperately.

Sam smiles as he pulls back. “One last thing,” he says, stepping away and reaching behind the dresser and pulling out a silver-tipped black walking stick.

Dean’s smile is genuine as he reaches for it. Turning back to the mirror, he strikes a pose, then straightens up and twirls it. “I don’t suppose there’s a knife in here?” he asks wryly. 

Sam’s grin is positively wicked. “Of course there is. Even we couldn’t get a gun into the casino, but I’m not going to let the best hunter in the country go completely unarmed." 

Dean smile threatens to split his face as he tugs at the handle of the walking stick. It gives easily and the long wicked-looking knife slides out smoothly. “Oh, Sammy.” His eyes flash as he looks at Sam. “Awesome.”

 

The evening is everything Sam had hoped. Dinner at the steakhouse, their vintage tuxedos matching the 1930s decor. Then some high-stakes Texas Hold’em where Dean kicks ass and takes names while Sam charms a woman in her sixties and listens to her tell him how gorgeous Dean is and what a lucky man Sam is. Sam does not disagree with her, and kisses her cheek when he leaves. He kisses Dean slow and deep to a few cheers and claps from the women at the table and a few jealous glances from one or two of the men.

 

At a rooftop bar, it finally happens the way Sam knew it would. Dean is walking sex tonight, the slight limp and the elegant cane drawing everyone’s eyes all the more. 

He’s making his way back to Dean, fresh drinks in hand, when he sees a stunning woman in a gravity-defying evening gown flirting with Dean. Touching his arm, touching her hair, leaning over. The same thing he’s seen his whole life. Doesn’t matter if the girl is fourteen and living in a rent-by-the-week motel, or thirty-something and surrounded by luxury, the moves are the same. The goal is the same. But this time Sam doesn’t have to stand by and let it happen.

He walks up to them, knowing the smile on his face is tight. Too bad, people are allowed to want Dean but not to touch. Dean’s smile is wide and happy. He takes the scotch from Sam’s hand. “Gracias, Sammy.” He clinks their glasses together and turns to the woman. “Esperanza, this is Sam.” He waves his glass between them. “Sam, Esperanza Baseñez. She’s a TV star.” The woman laughs, a lovely rippling sound.

“Nice to meet you,” Sam manages to get out. He holds up his glass in an apology. “Sorry I didn’t bring you anything. I didn’t know Dean had company.” 

“It’s quite alright. Dean grabbed me some of this delicious tequila.” Her Spanish-accented English is as delightful as she is beautiful. Not just stunning, she looks intelligent and sophisticated. Sam shifts a little closer to Dean, shoulders brushing, and she gives Sam an appraising look. He rests his hand on the back of Dean’s neck, thumb brushing over the obvious bruise below his ear. Dean presses into the slightest bit and her look turns darker, heated. She give Sam an up and down look, obviously happy with what she sees.

“So, what brings you here?” Sam asks, taking a sip of his two-hundred-dollar scotch bought with Dean’s poker winnings. Oh, he could get used to that.

She give a cute frown. “Work. I’m in a telenovela, and we are shooting some scenes in Las Vegas.” She motions to the neon lights of the Strip below them. “There are some locations you cannot fake on a sound stage.” 

“I’ll drink to that,” Dean toasts. “To Las Vegas. It’s one of a kind.” The clink glasses together. 

“So, Dean tells me you are here celebrating a successful year in business.” She shifts closer to Dean, resting a hand on his arm. 

He looks at Dean. “Well, no one died. So I guess that’s good.”

“I’ll drink to that, too,” Dean says, taking a big sip. “Ah. Good stuff, Sammy.”

“And they say crime doesn’t pay.” They sip in silence for a moment until Esperanza takes a few steps away and Dean follows her. Sam follows Dean. Making small talk, they eventually find their way to a darker corner of the bar. Dean and Esperanza sit angled toward each other on the L-shaped couch. Sam sits on the arm, near Dean. He leans his arm heavily across Dean’s shoulder. 

As they talk, and the tequila and scotch flows, Esperanza gets bolder, including Sam in her attentions. Sam starts leaning into Dean, hand on the back of his neck, pushing him rhythmically into the couch, knowing that the plug inside of him will be shifting with each small thrust. Sam’s hand tightens and loosens on Dean’s neck in the same rhythm. Sam’s not really paying attention to what they’re talking about, but when Esperanza takes Dean’s hand in both of hers and runs her finger down the lifeline in the middle of his palm, Sam sees Dean adjusting his pants and shifting uncomfortably. It’s time to go.

The conversation sputters to a stops as he stands. “Dean,” is all he says and Dean stands up as well. Sam turns to the now-confused Esperanza. “I’m sorry, but we have to go. We have somewhere to be.” Flustered, Esperanza stands. “Well, of course, if you must go.” She pulls herself together, gives her best smile. Really, a stunning woman. Any other time, Sam might have taken her up on her unspoken offer. A threesome wasn’t common with them but it wasn’t unknown either. And she was hard to pass up. 

Sam shakes his head in what he hopes is a suitably disappointed fashion. “I”m so sorry. Really, truly sorry. But we’re only here for tonight. And we have plans.”

She raises one eyebrow and gives them both one final long look and shakes her head in defeat. “No, I am the one who is sorry. I would have loved to see you two together.”

He feels Dean inhale and before he can speak, he slides his hands down to Dean’s ass, fingers digging into the material and pushing hard against the plug. “Goodnight,” he tells her. A couple of cheek kisses and she swishes off into the night, perfume lingering in the hot night air.

Sam doesn’t let Dean say anything, just drags him by the hand into the plush bathroom, locking the door behind them. He pushes Dean against the marble counter, hands fumbling with his own pants as he pulls his cock out. Grabbing Dean by the labels, he pulls him in for a bruising kiss as he turns them, backing Dean into a low velvet bench against one wall. Dean sits heavily as the back of his knees hit the bench, groaning as the plug is driven up into him. 

Sam grabs Dean’s chin in one hand, pulling his cock out with the other. He squeezes against the hinges of Dean’s jaw. “Suck me,” he orders. “Get me nice and hard and wet so I can fuck you again.”

Dean’s eyes are half-closed as he leans forward to grasps Sam’s semi-hard cock. He licks his lips, looking up at Sam through his eyelashes as he leans forward. Sam makes a show of looking at his watch. “I’d make it good and fast if I were you, Dean. However long it take you to get me to where I want to be, that’s how long i’m going to fuck you for. And, unlike me, you still don’t get to come.”

Dean’s hand tightens around Sam’s cock and his inhale is shaky, but he bends down and goes for it. His mouth is hot and wet and tight. His tongue spirals up and down Sam’s dick, pressing and flicking at all Sam’s sensitive spots. It’s an attack, an onslaught of pleasure, and the moans Dean is making around Sam’s cock are going to make Sam lose it. Dean can never get enough of Sam’s cock in his mouth. Sam’s woken up to enough blow jobs to really appreciate Dean’s oral fixation. He holds out as long as he can, jaw clenched to keep the _fucks_ and the _oh gods_ and _please Deans_ from falling out, but after three minutes and a particularly wicked twist of Dean’s hand, Sam has to push Dean off. “Stop, stop,” he pants. “Fuck. Dean, fuck.” He bends over, hands on his thighs as he struggles not to come.

Dean’s lips are red and swollen, shiny with spit and Sam’s pre-come. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are glassy and Sam just has to kiss him. He tastes like whiskey and sex and Sam is so frustrated with all the fucking fastening on Dean’s fucking pants. He’s one second away from just ripping the buttons off, when he feels Dean’s hands on his, stilling him. Not looking up, Dean moves Sam’s hands away and slowly undoes the fastenings on his pants. 

“Dean,” Sam whispers, reaching out to run his hand across Dean’s jaw. When Dean’s finished, he just drops his arms to the side and leans into Sam, resting his head on Sam’s shoulder. the small tremors rolling down Sam’s body are echoed in Dean’s as he reaches down to grasp the silicone base of the plug. “Ready?” Dean nods. They both groan as the widest part breaches the ring of muscle and the plug slides out. “Fuck, Dean,” Sam whispers as his fingers slide though the come leaking from Dean. He slides up, gathering it as he goes, and pushes it back in. 

Dean’s mouth is open and pressed against Sam’s neck. Sam feels the vibration of Dean’s trembling lips, feels Dean tongue tracing patterns on his skin. Sam hooks an ankle around the leg of the bench at pulls it from the wall. “Lay down. On your stomach,” he orders. He has to close his eyes as Dean does what Sam asks. He might try to convince himself that this is all for Dean, but the dark thrill that goes through him when Dean is like this - pliant, obedient - can’t be denied. Blame it on the demon blood, the pit, the year without a soul, whatever, but every time they’re at this place, Sam wants to push a little harder, go a little further. See how much Dean can take, how much he’ll let Sam do.

Tonight it looks like Dean will let Sam put him facedown on a velvet-covered bench, straddle him, and fuck him hard and fast and loud until Sam is coming deep into Dean. Dean’s hands are white-knuckled where they grip the edge of the bench, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Sam rests his forehead between Dean’s shoulder blades, panting, trying to get his breathing and heart rate back to normal. 

Dean rolls his head back and forth, like he’s stretching his neck, so Sam slides forward and gently turns so that he can kiss Dean, sweet and soft, again and again. He lifts off Dean without breaking contact with his mouth, kneeing in front of him, pressing lips together until Dean stops trembling, until his fingers unclench. He finally lets his head hang down, and Sam straightens up, fingers sliding up Dean’s face and through his hair. “Stay there,” he says, probably unnecessarily, but he doesn’t want Dean to think he’s forgetting him or leaving him. 

Sam pulls himself together and grabs the plug and the opened packet of lube and walks to the sink. He washes and relubes the plug, then sits on the edge of the bench by Dean’s hip. Dean rolls his head to watch as Sam caresses him. “I’m going to put this back in, okay?” Dean nods and the way he slides his good knee up, lifting his ass off the bench, knocks the air out Sam’s lungs. To see Dean so vulnerable, so - there’s no other word for it - submissive, makes Sam’s heart clench with the fierce knowledge that this is just for him, just for them. No one else gets to even know about this side of Dean, let alone see it. And Sam will protect it with his dying breath.

He slides the plug in, and Dean gives a soft breathy moan. They stay like that for a second, Sam rubbing up and down Dean’s ass and lower back gently. Then Sam stands, nudges Dean’s hip with his knee. “Come on, big brother. I’ve got one more surprise for you.” Dean groans and rolls onto his side. Sam can’t hide his smile at the red flush across Dean’s face and the affection in his eyes. “One more surprise is gonna kill me, Sam.” 

“You’re a big boy. I have faith,” He holds out his hand. Dean grasps it, pulling himself up with a groan. His nose scrunches up and he shimmies a little to get used to the plug again and pull his trousers up at the same time. He exhales sharply through his nose as he yanks the pants closed, blush spreading up to his ears and Sam knows he’s clenching and unclenching his ass around the plug.

Sam pulls him close, tucking and smoothing his shirt and jacket. He stops with his hands on Dean’s lapel, looking down at Dean. Dean looks back up with a shy smile. “Beautiful,” Sam says, leaning down for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the additional chapter. This thing is taking on a life of its own and I'm enjoying writing it way too much.


	3. Would you have it any other way?

The elevator is empty, and Sam exhales as the heat from Dean’s body sinks into his. He can see Dean’s face in the glossy mirrored surface. He looks peaceful, eyes closed and a soft smile on his face. Sam pulls Dean in more tightly against him and Dean feels almost sleepy in his arms. Too bad they’re only going three floors down, Sam just kind of wants to ride the elevator like this for a while.

The couple that enters pushes the button for the lobby and Sam thinks _what the hell_ and rides down with them. Dean’s head is tilted into Sam’s chest and he looks half asleep. The door opens onto the lobby. The woman meets Sam’s eyes and quietly asks, “Floor?” 

“Thirty two,” Sam whispers. She presses the button before exiting. 

It’s not the fastest elevator in the world, and they’re taking the slow way up, people entering and exiting at most of the floors, so Sam has plenty of time to imagine how amazing he and Dean would look fucking inside this mirrored box, their reflections repeating into infinity. He thinks some of the other passengers would approve, might even clap if they knew how ready Dean’s body is for his, how he could just slip that plug out and slip right into him. Luckily for the other guests, Sam couldn’t get it up again right now if they were paying him. Though that doesn’t mean he couldn’t make Dean come spectacularly, make him dirty up this shiny surface.

The elevator dings as it passes the 31st floor, and Sam gently pushes Dean up and off him. The smile hasn’t left his face. He leans in close to Sam’s ear. “Was that your surprise, Sammy? A little elevator ride? Not even gonna fuck me in front of all these mirrors?” Sam’s hand tightens on Dean’s arm, and Dean chuckles low and quiet. “Would be so hot.”

“Narcissist,” Sam jokes. 

“I was thinking of watching you,” Dean replies as the elevator stops. They hear the bass thump of music before the door open. 

The elevator opens right into the red-velvet-roped waiting area. Sam and Dean get the nod, not a surprise. Sam pays the cover, and they’re in. 

The club is packed. Music two decibels below aerial-assault level, beautiful half-naked people dancing, crammed together. There are dancers, men, women, men who might be women and women who might be men, dancing together or alone in cages hanging from the ceiling. Sam can’t tell if they’re paid entertainment or just really happy club goers.

The moist heat of sweaty bodies envelopes them, and Dean takes off his jacket as soon as he’s inside, carrying it slung over his arm. Even in this crowd of glitterati, Dean stands out with his stark black and white tux and silver tipped cane, and the crowd parts in front of him as people try to figure out if they know him; if they _should_ know him.

Mirrored columns separate the dance floor from the rest of the club, and Sam checks out their reflection while Dean searches for a place for them to sit. They look damn good, and he turns Dean’s head to the sight of the two of them together. Dean’s smile is wide and he’s got that that look in his eyes like every second they spend clothed is just a waste of time. Sam loves that look.

“Got a thing for mirrors, Sammy?” he asks. “Guess we’d better do some renovating back at the bunker.”

Sam just tilts his head back and kisses him, one hand cupping his face, one hand on his hip. He sees a lady passing behind them trip over a low table, she’s staring at them so hard.

Dean pulls his lips away, so Sam just moves onto his neck. “Sam?” Dean asks. 

“Hmm?” Sam murmurs, not moving his lips off of Dean’s neck. That jacket looked awesome on Dean, fits him like a sin, but it blocked Sam’s access to Dean’s skin. With the jacket off, he can finally get to that soft spot on Dean’s neck that he loves to mark up. Actually, Sam thinks, if Dean were naked, he could reach all of his skin. Maybe it’s the $200 scotch talking, but part of Sam actually contemplates stripping Dean right here, right now. 

Dean shifts the jacket to the arm with the walking stick, then reaches behind him, runs his hand up the back of Sam’s thighs. “I’m sensing a theme here.”

Sam smiles into Dean’s skin, nips at it sharply before pulling away. “Oh?” he asks.

“Is this, perchance, a club of the homosexual persuasion?” He nods across the floor.

Sam follows his gaze to two women in a rather heated embrace. When the blonde’s hand slides up the redhead’s skirt, he bites down on Dean’s neck again, loving the shudder that goes through his brother. “I believe it is. And I believe that I am going to fuck you in this club, and I want everyone to see.”

Dean’s reaction to that is exquisite. He trembles, bending over like he’d been punched in the stomach. “Sammy,” he gasps, pushing his hand hard against his groin to stave off what Sam is sure is going to be an epic orgasm. “Fuck. Don’t...don’t say things like that if...”

“If what?” He licks up Dean’s neck, digging his fingers hard into his hips. “If I don’t mean it? But I do mean it. You’re strong, and brave, and amazing, and beautiful and mine. Only mine. And I want everyone to see and be jealous.”

“Possessive bitch,” Dean says.

Dean doesn’t know the half of it. 

So often what they do is in the shadows, hidden from normal people. They saved the world and no one knows. They love through heaven and hell and no one can see. Dean hides his depths behind his easy beauty and quick mouth, and Sam has learned since puberty how to make 6’ 5” of solid muscle looks small. But sometimes he just wants everyone to see them, to acknowledge them.

Dean turns in Sam’s arms and pulls them back into the mirror, mouth sealed to Sam’s. That’s one way to get people to look at them. Why isn’t there another word for what happens when his mouth is on Dean’s? A kiss is something mothers give children in fairytales. What happens between them when it’s like this is different. It’s an affirmation that they are still here, still alive, and they still have each other, despite heaven’s plans and hell’s intent. Entire conversations they will never have pass between them in these moments. The way they are? Sam knows it’s not normal. Normal people couldn’t survive this. But, then again, neither will they. There’s no way it will ever end neatly. When one goes, the other will, too. They’ve proven that time and time again.

By the time they make their way to one of the low loveseats near the dance floor, Dean is limping a little, leaning hard on his walking stick, and they both have their jackets off. Sam’s black on black waistcoat is still buttoned up neatly, but he’s taken off his tie and loosened the collar. Dean’s still got his tie on and the suspenders up, but the sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up, and Sam is mesmerized by the muscles in his forearm and the golden hair on his skin. He really wants to see Dean messed up now. They watch the dancers for while, listening to the music. It’s too loud to really talk, so Sam just leans back and pulls Dean between his legs, his back pressed against Sam’s chest. He can’t stop touching, rubbing his hands down Dean’s arms, his thighs. Kissing his temple, the side of his neck. Dean’s breathing gets deeper and Sam can feel the faintest of tremors starting in his legs as he struggles to keep from rolling his hips. God, Dean still hasn’t come yet. Sam can practically feel him trembling in his bones. 

Sam slips his hand under the suspenders, right where they attach to Dean’s pants. His fingers dip down under the waistband, quick and light. He feels Dean’s muscles flutter. Dean is firm and hot under his palm. He drags his hand slowly up under the suspender strap, stopping to pinch at a nipple. Does it again, rolling the rough point between his fingers to hear Dean moan his name again. He pulls Dean’s head to the left with one hand as he slide the suspender down off his shoulder, trapping Dean’s arm against his body.

A low _fuck yeah_ carries below the music, and Sam looks up without moving his mouth from Dean’s neck. A slender young man with dark hair is watching them, gaze locked on where Sam’s hand disappears into Dean’s clothing. As Sam pulls the other suspender off Dean’s shoulder, the man points his partner in Sam’s direction. Sam pulls Dean’s chin up so he can see the men are watching them. Then he gently pulls Dean’s shirt out from his pants and unbuttons it. He slides his hand back down into Dean’s pants, feeling Dean hard and leaking. The contact makes them both moan and the music thuds through them like a shared heartbeat. 

They draw the dancers like moths to their flame. Vegas is full of jaded, sophisticated social climbers who try to hide their desire under a mask of ennui, but Sam can sense their eyes sliding over him and Dean, sees them dance a little closer, the crowds thickening near their loveseat. He completely understand why people can’t look away, he knows what Dean looks like when like this, seen it a hundred times, and he still can’t ever look away either. The soft, almost-feminine prettiness of Dean’s teens and twenties has grown into a chiseled handsomeness without diminishing the plushness of his lips or the lush sweep of lashes around his green-gold eyes. 

So Sam lets them watch as he strokes Dean slowly and firmly from root to tip, moving with the rolling of Dean’s hips. There’s a temptation to just keep it building like this, just slow and deep and moving his hand steady, until Dean comes hot and wet over Sam’s hand, sweeping them both along in a pyroclastic flow of heat. But he wants more than that. He wants Dean’s brain fried and body boneless by the end. And he knows exactly how to do that. He pulls his hand out of Dean’s pants. “Sammy” Dean whispers. Letting Sam know he’s okay with whatever Sam wants.

And Sam needs to know that he can do things for Dean. Dean gives himself over and over to the world. It’s Sammy’s job to give back to him. To bring him back to himself and gather up all those pieces he’s given away. To put him back together with his hands and his words and his cock and his love. 

Sam’s not stupid, he’s done the research on how they are with each other. Knows all the terminology and the psychology. But it doesn’t really apply to them. They’ve held each other as they died, as they were flayed open emotionally and physically. He knows Dean. If he were forced to talk about this, put a name to it, it would be over. When Dean is like this, Sammy knows he could ask Dean to bleed for him, he would, gladly. It’s ironic that the only thing Dean would safeword out of would be a conversation on safewords.

Sam’s hand stills as the urge to protect Dean wars with the urge to show the world the shining thing that is Dean Winchester.

Dean makes the decision for him when he rolls his head against Sam’s chest languidly, decadently. “Kiss me, baby boy,” he demands into the skin of Sam’s neck. And Sam does. There is no power on earth that could stop him. Their mouths press and slide over each other, the angle wrong for the deep kisses Sam prefers, where he feels like he can breathe Dean’s air. These soft, teasing touches of lips and tongue that make Sam crazy is Dean’s territory. More than once Dean has tied Sam to the bed, blindfolded him, and tortured him with his mouth for what seems like eternity. Nipping, licking, and sucking - never in one place long enough to let Sam relax. Not until Sam is trembling, arms and legs pulled tight against the restraints, every muscle strained and outlined in sweat, not until the tears fall from his eyes and his voice is hoarse from begging, does Dean take pity on him. The wet-hot-tight plunge of Dean’s mouth on his painfully hard cock is like a punch to the gut, and Sam comes with a white-blind scream that has broken more than one headboard, and gotten them kicked out of more than one motel with paper-thin walls.

Sam’s groans with the memory. Resting his head on Dean’s temple, he can see the fine lines feathering out from his eyes get deeper as Dean smiles, can feel Dean’s chest press out, thighs drop open a little further as he shows off. Seducing the crowd. Dean knows he’s gorgeous. Sam growls into his brother’s ear. “You make me crazy. I’m two seconds away from fucking you on this couch.” All the air leaves Dean’s lungs in a long exhale and his fingers dig into Sam’s thigh muscles. It’s the closest Dean gets to begging like this and it’s all Sam needs to know. 

He pries Dean’s hands off his thighs and pulls his arms up over his head, hooking them around his neck. Dean’s shirt is in Sam’s way, so he yanks it out from under the suspenders. He slides one hand back down, gripping Dean’s cock hard, pinching his nipple with the other. Dean gasps and twists up with a pained moan. Sam hears the moan echoed back from somewhere behind him. “Keep your eyes open as long as you can,” he tells Dean. “I want them to see how gorgeous you are when you come.”

“Okay, Sammy,” Dean pants. Sam is jacking him in earnest now, hand tight and deliberate, from top to bottom, over and over. There’s not a lot room in the tux pants and Sam really wants to watch. He feels Dean pulse hot over his hand on the next upstroke and give the shuddering exhale that means he close and Sam just has to see it. He stops torturing Dean’s nipples long enough to one-handedly open the fasting on the trousers. A push from the back of his hand, and the zipper slides down. Dean’s cock arches from the opening of his briefs. “Oh fucking hell,” Dean curses, pressing his head back into Sam’s chest. Sam kisses his head as his hand slips over the wet tip and slides back down. 

The dark-haired man is openly rubbing his erection through his pants. The lesbian couple is leaning back against a pillar, watching. The blonde stands behind her partner, rolling the other’s nipples between her fingers. Sam loves it. “Fuck, Dean,” he growls. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. Look what you’re doing to them.” Dean melts against Sam and Sam just curves as much as he can over Dean, holding him, protecting him, and making him feel so, so good.

And, oh, this is Sam’s favorite place to be. When everything falls away and all Sam can see and feel and hear is Dean, under his hand, his mouth, pressed against his own hardness. All his focus is on pushing this to the edge, to pulling absolutely everything from Dean he can. So when a body knocks against his leg, the only thing he can process is _not Dean_. The disorientation is dizzying. In the space of a blink, Dean’s arms are gone from around his neck and he hears a small scraping sound and the air around them goes oddly quiet and tense.

The flashing lights and the pounding music come crashing back into his consciousness. The black and white flash of the strobe illuminates the tableau in bits and pieces. A small crowd around them, standing stock still. _Flash_. The brunette man, eyes wide, hand held out in front of him. _Flash_. Dean’s arm rock steady, holding the long knife from the walking stick against the man’s palm. _Flash._ Sam can see the point pressing just the smallest bit into the soft flesh. Dean’s body is still relaxed against Sam’s chest, his cock still hard under Sam’s hand. 

Lust shoots through Sam and his hand tightens around Dean at the same time he thrusts against Dean’s back. _Oh, fuck._ Feels so good. He can tell from the pulsing of Dean’s blood, and the way he swells under Sam’s hand that he is so close. 

The strobe lights give over to a rain of wildly swinging colored lights, and Sam can see the crowd staring to part from the rear as security makes its way towards them. He leans as far over Dean as he can, sliding down one hand to push hard against the plug still inside Dean. It’s slippery from the come leaking out of it. He rubs around so gently in contrast to the rough fast way he is stripping Dean’s cock. “Come for me Dean, before those security guys get here. Then I’m gonna take you back to the room and -” And Dean is coming, almost silently just some soft grunts, knife point not wavering. Sam’s eyes roll back in his head at the feel of Dean’s heat sliding over his fingers, and the strength in Dean’s body, and the steadiness of his hand. It’s all of Dean condensed into one moment.

Security is getting closer and he hears the crowd murmuring. Dean is still half-hard and working through the aftershocks of his orgasm as Sam maneuvers them off the couch. He pulls Dean’s hand away from the dark-haired man, lets him stumble back into the crowd, and zips Dean’s pants back up. They stand, neither one too steadily, and Dean sheathes the knife. They walk towards the door in silence, jackets flung over their arms, Dean’s open shirt flapping in the breeze. Sam drags Dean by the hand and they make it out in record time. Dean nods at the bouncer as they walk into the blessedly empty elevator.

Sam drags Dean in, pushes the button for their floor, and leans heavily against the wall with a sigh. He hears a choked sound from Dean. When he opens his eyes, he sees Dean in the reflection across him. God, Dean looks amazingly, completely, debauched. Shirt open, pants undone and clinging to him damply. His beautiful face and perfect neck are still flushed, hair wild. And he’s looking at Sam all bedroom-eyed, smiling that wide shit-eating grin that’s brighter than all the disco lights in the club. When he sees Sam looking at him, he laughs silently and holds up their (come-covered Sam realizes) hands. “Nice surprise, Sammy,” he says with a smirk. “Sex and violence, my favorite. We haven’t been almost arrested in a while.”

They both burst out laughing. Air is already in short supply from the gasping laughter when Dean pulls Sam’s hand up to his mouth and starts licking at it. Impossibly, Sam feels another orgasm building. “Dean,” he warns as the bell dings and the doors slide open.

The walk to the room is a blur, and Sam is pushing Dean through the door, dragging him towards the dresser. Stripping him as they go, kissing him, telling him how perfect he is, how beautiful, and how hard he’s going to fuck him. Dean is almost drunk with it, can only take all Sam gives him. Eyes heavy-lidded, limbs heavy and languorous. 

Dean’s legs are still trembling a little when Sam positions him in front of the mirror over the black lacquer dresser. So many mirrors tonight. Maybe he is a narcissist, but he never gets tired of watching them. He loves the way Dean’s pale skin looks against the black. He places Dean hands down on the top of the dresser and makes him look at the both of them: Sam fully dressed, Dean’s naked body. Sam pulls him upright against his body. He pulls Dean’s head back to kiss him, tongue pressing in, lips sliding, flicking at Dean’s incredible mouth, biting until Dean is panting and his lips are red and swollen. One of Sam’s hands cups Dean’s face, keeping it just where Sam wants it. The other caresses Dean’s body, scraping across nipples, pinching, running down his torso, scratching into this pubic hair. When he finally grabs Dean’s cock, already hard again and dripping, Dean pulls off with a gasp. “God, Sammy. So good.” He closes his eyes, hips rolling into Sam’s loose hold.

“Open your eyes, Dean,” Sam whispers. He does, as mesmerized as Sam is at the picture they make - Sam so dark and tall behind him, his black-clad arm reaching down and across the white skin of Dean’s body. Almost a study in black and white except for the the blood red of his lips and the dark green of his eyes. The hard gorgeous head of Dean’s cock sliding through Sam’s huge hand that almost covers his entire length. Dean shudders hard, hips thrusting forward quickly, jerkily, as he moans out Sam’s name again.

Sam shushes him and pushes him down with a gentle hand at his back until Dean is braced once again against the dresser. “Should fucking videotape it, Dean. You’re so beautiful.”

Sam reaches down and gently feels for the edge of the plug, spreading the wetness around gently with his fingers. Dean’s skin twitches, but except for the jerk of his hard cock, he makes no sound, doesn’t move. Sam lays a line of gentle kisses down his back, licking up the spine as he fingers dig in a little, searching for purchase on the slick silicone. “I’m going to pull it out now,” he whispers into Dean’s back. Dean exhales, leans a little lower, and spread his legs wider. Sam tugs and he can’t look away. They both groan as the widest part stretches Dean open. Sam stops holding him open like that. “Jesus, Dean,” he chokes out. 

Dean’s answering groan turns to a hiss as Sam slides it out slowly over the red, tender skin. Dean’s exhale is broken, and slick pulses from of his cock, slipping down the same way Sam’s come drips out of Dean. Sam watches as it slowly seeps around the curve of his ass. Despite three massive orgasms, Sam feels his cock twitch as it tries to rise to the incredible sight. Moving his hands to either side of Dean’s hips, Sam sinks down onto his heels, dragging his mouth down Dean’s body as he does. Gently he spreads Dean’s cheeks and blows gently across the tender flesh. 

“God, Sam,” Dean moans, head hanging heavy down, his shoulders are trembling. Sam presses forward and licks in hard, tasting himself and Dean together. Dean yells, and his arms give out. He falls to his forearms on the desk. “Fuck, Sam.”

“So good for me, baby. Oh, fuck. You took it so gorgeous. So amazing.” The praise falls from him lips when he pulls off, rolls through his mind when he licks and sucks until Dean is a trembling mess in front of him.

“Sam!” Dean groans long and low, like the roar of the impala’s engine, his flanks trembling like she does when Dean gets her up to 100 miles an hour on those Montana highways. Sam pushes up, getting his arms under Dean’s arms before he collapses. He turns Dean in his arms until they are face to face. Kissing everywhere he can reach, Dean’s forehead, neck, cheeks, mouth, chin, as he walks them backwards until Dean’s knees hit the bed and he sits heavily. Sam sinks back down, spreading Dean’s legs as he does until he is kneeling between Dean’s spread thighs. Dean is panting, cock hard and shiny, dripping wet. His hands are clenched around his own knees, knuckles white. Eyes shuttered and Sam knows Dean is deep in it now. He’s where he needs to be. And now what Sam needs is to bring Dean back. Needs to see his big brother is in this with him. 

So Sam smiles a wicked smile up through his hair, knowing that makes Dean crazy. He is rewarded by Dean’s deep in-drawn breath and the jerk and throb of Dean’s dick. He knows Dean is right on the edge, the orgasm in the club nothing, a tease. Bending down to kiss the inside of his left thigh, Sam pulls Dean’s hand off his knee and puts it on his head. Dean’s fingers instantly twine into Sam’s hair. He repeats the gesture on the other side. “Hold on,” he purrs as he opens his mouth and slides right down his brother’s dick, until he feels Dean pushing against the back of his throat. 

“Jesus!” Dean yells, his hand tightening in Sam’s hair. Sam groans around Dean’s cock. Pulls back, twirls his tongue around the head and slides back down. “Oh shit. Fuck.” Dean’s curses give way to grunts and heavy breaths. Sam does it again and again, feeling Dean thrusting up and pushing back against the bed, knowing Dean can feel the come seeping out of him, feel the rough bedspread rubbing against his over-sensitized hole. Sam goes up and down and around until he hears Dean starting to chant his name, feels his hands spread across Sam’s skull, cradling him gently. He pulls off and looks up, meeting Dean’s eyes. The deep green ring sparkles around the lust-wide blackness of the pupils. And finally sees the wicked effervescent Dean who Sam would, and has, gone to hell and back for.

“Dean,” Sam whispers. 

“Hey, little brother,” Dean purrs back. “You sure look good on your knees in that fucking tux with your mouth around my cock.”

“Oh god,” Sam moans, as the blood flows almost painfully into his rapidly swelling cock. “Jesus, Dean. Come on, fuck me. Fuck my mouth.”

“Well since you asked so pretty,” is all the warning Sam gets before Dean uses his grip in Sam’s hair to drag his face back down. Dean lets himself fall backwards on the bed, keeping Sam pressed against him so that Sam has to quickly rise up on his knees. Dean fucks into his mouth hard and perfect and Sam can hardly breathe. He digs one hand into the meat of Dean’s thigh. The other, he manages to slide underneath Dean. He pushes two fingers into the hot, wet slick of his abused hole. Dean yells so loudly Sam tenses, waiting for the pounding on the walls from their neighbors that doesn’t come. So he does it again, thrusting as best as he can in the confined space. Dean’s slamming down onto his finger and up to his mouth. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh, god, oh, Sam, Sam, Sammy. _God_!” and with that his hands slam Sam down and with three short sharp thrusts he is coming in Sam’s mouth, sitting up with the force of it, pulsing so long and hard Sam can’t begin to hold it all and it drips out the side of his mouth, pushing out with each of Dean’s thrusts. Tears force their way from the corners of Sam’s eyes. His hand flies off Dean’s thighs to clutch at his own cock, And with the press of his hand, he comes inside his pants.

Dean yanks him off his oversensitive cock while he’s still coming, and he falls back on the ground, hips thrusting against nothing, back arched. Dean groans, watching Sam come in his pants, cock jerking with aftershocks.

Dean collapses back down on the bed as Sam’s back thuds onto the carpet. The only sound is pained panting as they struggle to get their breath under control. Dean’s strangled breaths gradually turn into incredulous laughter. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sammy. I think you killed me.”

“You?” Sam says from the floor. “Who’s on the floor here? I don’t think I can ever come again. Goddamn.”

Dean snorts skeptically and kicks weakly in Sam’s direction.

Sam gathers his energy and drags himself up off the floor. Dean is half-asleep already, but Sam kisses his shoulder and covers him as he starts to shiver. Sam makes him drink some water, then turns him onto his side and tucks him in as he starts to slip into sleep. It’s incredibly hard to stop himself from sinking into the bed next to Dean. He doesn’t think he’s come so many times in one night in years. But the night isn’t over yet. And they need this next part as much as they needed everything else.

The light in the bathroom is too bright as he starts the water, filling the huge tub. This giant tub is his main reason for getting this room. He adds the bubble bath he bought with him, because he and Dean both love bubble baths. It was something they almost never saw in real life when they were kids. It always seemed like the utmost symbol of luxury to two kids growing up in motels and run-down rentals. There are a million light switches on the wall, and he fiddles with them until the light is just right. Then he calls housekeeping and orders the bed linens changed and two steak dinners, telling them to just come in and leave the tray in the room.

He strips and wakes Dean gently, coaxing him into the tub with the promise of a hair wash.

Once in the tub, Dean leans with his back against Sam’s chest. “Fucking amazing, Sammy. I should pimp you out. I’d make a million dollars a night.”

“It was good?” Sam tries to keep the neediness of out of his voice, but he pushed it tonight in the club and he needs to know if it was okay with Dean. “Not too much?”

Dean shakes his head. “Just perfect.” He moans as Sam works the shampoo into a lather. “Lucky for you I’m easy.”

Sam laughs. “Not easy. Not at all. Just…perfect. Perfect.”

“Yeah?” Dean twists to look at him suspiciously. 

“Yeah.”

Dean shrugs. “Well, I guess I gotta trust you. You’re the brains of this operation. I’m just the eye candy.”

“Damn straight,” Sam jokes, trying to push him down under the water to rinse his head. He stops when Dean hisses as he foot hits the end of the tub. “Hurts my knee,” he explains.

“Oh, sorry. Sorry.” He looks around for some other way to rinse Dean’s hair. Notices the shower head detaches, he reaches for it and figures out how to make it work. He pushes Dean to lean forward. “Sorry,” he apologizes again, fingers rubbing the shampoo away. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were in pain sooner.”

Dean shakes his head, turns as best he can in the tub, kisses Sam again. “We live a hard life, baby boy. We’re both just doing the best we can. I know it. When I’m not being a bitch, I know it.”

The door to their room opens and they hear housekeeping remaking the bed. “God, they’re going to think we’re sex maniacs. Tell me you put the plug in a drawer or something?”

Sam just laughs and calls out to the housekeeper. “Can you leave some extra pillows?” He finishes washing them both as she works, then drags them both out of the tub and into the soft, plush complementary bathrobes. 

Dean sighs, wincing a tiny bit, as he sinks onto the bed, back propped up on the extra pillows. There’s a knock at the door and it opens, a red-suited bellhop pushes in a room-service cart. “Now I know you love me, Sammy,” Dean says as the bellhop rolls the plates of steak and potatoes over to the small table.

Sam opens two beers from the minbar, hands one to Dean, and toasts him. “Yeah, I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Florence + the Machine "What the Water Gave Us."
> 
> And oh, poor Atlas  
> The world’s a beast of a burden  
> You’ve been holding up a long time  
> And all this longing  
> And the ships are left to rust  
> That’s what the water gave us


End file.
